


In Two Minds

by Corvidology



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M, Mutual Pining, Smut Swap 2018 Treat, Telepathic Bond, Telepathic Sex, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-25 23:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14389242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvidology/pseuds/Corvidology
Summary: Written to fulfil Morbane's requests in the Smut Swap exchange.





	In Two Minds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morbane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbane/gifts).



"This is taking too long, Snow. We should just kill him and cut our losses."

He couldn't move a muscle but he could still hear Kara, ruthlessly practical as ever.

"The agency's got a lot of money tied up in him, Stanton. We'll hear what the doctor's got to say and then make a decision. We've got to be out of the city by Wednesday, before the FBI catches on that we're running an operation here, and if he's not conscious by then we'll kill him."

He was conscious but not in a way they'd ever understand. If one of them touched him he could communicate it but dying would be better than enduring their touch ever again. 

"I'm not sure what you think you're doing in here but my patient needs rest."

It wasn't a voice he'd heard before. They must have given him a new doctor. He could feel the warmth of genuine concern radiating through the connection as the doctor checked his pulse. 

'So what's his chances, Doc? Sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Nightingale, Dr. Nightingale. The bullet creased his skull and there was some swelling but the latest scans show marked improvement. The swelling is greatly reduced and we expect him to be awake tomorrow. Now I must insist you leave my patient to rest."

He could still hear Kara and Mark from the hallway. "We'll come back in the morning and make a decision then."

 

"Mr. Reese?" It was Doctor Nightingale's voice. "I'm certain you can hear me and that you're just in a pseudocoma. I know I'm a stranger and you have no reason to trust me but as soon as your friends, and I use the term loosely, have left the building we're going to be moving you to a private facility where they won't be able to find you. I am confident that you will regain consciousness but not in the period of time they've allotted before terminating you. Once awake, where you go and what you do will be up to you." 

 

When he finally regained consciousness he was in a luxury hospital room. No, it was a luxury hotel room full of all the required paraphernalia. 

There was a short slight man dressed in a really expensive suit sat beside his bed. 

"Dr. Nightingale, I presume?"

"Just a necessary alias, I'm afraid. My name is Harold Finch and I have a proposition for you."

* * *

And what a proposition it had been. His first inclination had been to turn it down but he couldn't go back to the CIA and where else did he have to go? Finch offered him the opportunity to help people that no one else cared about and while Finch was upfront about their survival odds, in his line of work he'd never thought he'd make old bones anyway. 

And then there was the other thing, the thing that drew him more to Finch than any other person he'd ever met. Harold might be a genius but his mind was perfectly quiet. Blissfully, perfectly quiet. He was a Neamhní.

* * *

John had almost gone mad as a child before one of his teachers had realized he was an early blooming Léitheoir. He'd been really lucky. Most people lived their whole life without meeting one due to their scarcity and manifesting before puberty was unheard of. At least by puberty they usually had a basic understanding of secrets that should be kept. At six, he'd had no filter and his worthless father couldn't take the truth. No one could. He'd wanted to believe some of his family had fought for him and failed but as a grown man looking back on it he knew they couldn't handle him anymore than his father could. His down trodden mother had voiced objections despite being terrified of her husband but he'd still been sent off to god knows where, his father only too happy to pocket the money he'd been given to forget he'd ever had a son. 

At the Academy, they'd taught him to filter out the endless chatter of the minds around him, to only listen in when he wanted to do so. He believed the Academy's founders had meant it as a charity to those who were afflicted but it hadn't taken long at all for the government to figure out their gifts could be used as weapons. The necessary training and an excellent education had come at a price but he'd been willing to pay it. Back then he'd still been naive enough to believe his government would never do anything wrong. 

Embedded first with Special Forces and then later with the CIA it had been a strange existence. Only certain key higher ups like Control had ever known about his Léitheoir abilities. They'd wanted it that way because they liked to watch the watchers as well. 

The Academy was also the first time he'd heard about Neamhní, an estimated 5% of the population who were genetically hardwired not to broadcast their thoughts. 

He'd never thought he'd be lucky enough to meet one but here was Harold Finch, in the flesh. Just sitting quietly in the library with Harold was the greatest peace he'd ever known. 

The funny thing was, he'd spent all his life filtering the thoughts of others and yet Finch was the only person he'd ever met where he might have killed to hear his thoughts.

* * *

Head down, he let the hot water stream down his back, easing his aching muscles. He didn't see any point in hurrying, certain Harold would have left by the time he emerged. That's why he was surprised to hear the bathroom door open. 

"Did you forget something, Finch?"

"Yes." The glass door to the shower opened and he turned at the sound. "This." Harold pushed him back into the wall, pulled him down by his neck and kissed him hard, one hand closing around John's cock. 

Harold leaned back and stared up at him as his hand began to move. Without his glasses, his eyes were huge and bluer than he'd realized, water droplets trapped in his dark eyelashes. 

"I want you, John." His hand began to move again. "Any objections?" 

He gasped as Harold's hand stopped moving and his grip tightened. 

"Not a one." He lowered his head, wrapping his arms around Harold, surprised at the lean toned muscles shifting under his hands. When he in turn reached for Harold's cock, his hand was brushed aside as he dropped to his knees in front of him. The scars on Harold's neck were hardly noticeable, not at all what he'd expected, but when his mouth closed around him he forgot everything else. Harold teased him, wrapping his lips tightly around the head, tonguing at the slit and sliding one hand back to drag along and press tightly against his perineum, massaging him. As the world narrowed down to Harold's mouth and hands he tried to push him back, to delay the inevitable, but he was immoveable and as one of his fingers slid into John's ass he came hard, Harold swallowing him down. 

His knees buckled and he slid down the shower wall, dazed, as Harold straddled him, pressing up against him, his erection caught between them. The friction of his ass as he sat down firmly on his lap had him hard again in no time. He couldn't remember the last time he'd recovered so fast but this was Harold and he'd never wanted anyone so much. Harold slowly lowered himself down onto his cock, his thigh muscles straining and John knew he should be saying something about lube, about Harold's leg not being able to handle the strain, but his tongue was in his mouth and his ass was unbearably tight and hot as he slid down over him and sped up until he couldn't think straight as he climbed higher and higher and higher.

* * *

It was two weeks later when Harold showed John his new apartment. He knew the moment he entered, but that didn't mean he could believe it. 

"I've been here before."

"How?" Harold wasn't meeting his eyes. 

It just couldn't be. "I knew that dream wasn't mine."

"I cannot apologize enough. My control isn't as good when I'm sleeping."

"You're..." No, it couldn't be. "A _cainteoir_?"

"Yes, Mr. Reese. I'm sorry I never told you."

It was stranger than meeting a unicorn. There were legends about them but the Academy instructors had believed they were extinct.

"I knew it wasn't mine because I don't think of you that way."

"Well, yes, obviously." Harold shifted uncomfortably and then straightened, meeting his eyes again. 

He moved forward, wrapping his arms loosely around Harold's waist. He didn't struggle else he'd have let go immediately. 

"Please don't think I have any expectation of you returning my feelings, despite of what may have occurred in my unintentionally shared dream."

"I knew it wasn't mine because in my fantasies we're exactly as we are, not some idealized version."

Kissing Harold for the first time was awkward, given the difference in their heights and the inflexibility of his neck but he bent his knees and tilted his head to make the necessary adjustments. When Harold raised his hands to caress the back of his neck and to tilt his head better to his liking it went from awkward to perfect in a minute. He reluctantly broke the kiss, stepping back. 

Harold licked his lips like he wanted to capture every trace of the taste of John. "Have you changed your mind now?"

"You tell me."

"Without permission I would never—"

"Read me. _Please._ "

He felt when Harold made contact, a glowing warmth in his mind as he read John's fantasies.

"You really want to undress me that much?" Harold's voice was full of wonder. 

He reached for Harold's jacket slipping it slowly from his shoulders and dropping it to the floor. He loosened and removed his tie and popped the first two buttons on his shirt, licking and nipping at the exposed skin. As his hands descended to work the buttons on his vest, he nipped at his ears and felt the vibration of Harold's hum of pleasure under his mouth as the warmth in his mind increased. He dropped Harold's vest to the ground, pulling his shirttails loose and unbuttoning it as he went back to kissing him, licking across his lower lip before worrying it lightly with his teeth. He gasped, feeling what Harold was feeling across his own lip, the ghost of hot hands caressing his own chest. 

"All right, John?"

"Hell, yes!"

He dropped the shirt to join the rest of Harold's clothing and pulled his undershirt up over his head, leaving his hair standing on end. 

He cocked one eyebrow as John thought he looked adorable. 

_Not quite the feeling I was hoping for, John._

He thought about being on his knees, naked, sucking his cock, Harold's hands urging him on into deep-throating him, as he reached for Harold's fly. 

_Naked first, John._. 

Harold sat on the edge of the bed as John discarded his suit jacket and shirt, pulled his shoes and socks off and unzipped his fly pushing his pants and briefs to the floor in one move. 

For the first time ever he was self-conscious about his body, Harold's fantasy having pictured him completely buff and scar-free apart from where Dr. Madani had stitched him up.

 _The reality is far better than fantasy._

He went to his knees, kissing Harold again, fumbling for his fly buttons, drowning in their shared arousal. As soon as Harold was naked he sucked his cock down as far as he could, caressing his thighs. He'd never experienced anything like this sensation feedback – he could feel Harold's cock in his mouth but also his own cock hardening rapidly in response to being deep throated. 

High on the sensation, within seconds of coming, he pulled back. _Want it all._

Harold thought about the lube and condoms in the bedside table as he swung himself awkwardly up and around on the bed. John picked up the lube and left the condoms, wanting no barriers at all between them. 

Harold nodded. 

It was his turn to feel Harold's self-doubt through their connection as he looked down at him. 

_Having you, as you are, is more than I ever hoped for._ He climbed up over Harold, straddling his hips, stretching himself with lubed fingers, delighting in the lewd images Harold was feeding him. When he took Harold's cock in his hand and stroked lube up and down it he looked down, sure he'd see lube on his own cock. As he lowered himself onto Harold he felt the stretch but also the sensation of his own cock gripped by hot flesh. 

It was unnerving and incredible at one and the same time. As he started to move, picking up speed as he slid almost off Harold's cock and then down again he couldn't hold on to which sensations were his and which were Harold's, didn't even try to as they changed angle slightly, their cock now hitting their prostate with every stroke, their orgasm building until their hand closed around their other cock, stroking only a couple of times before they climaxed. 

As their cock softened, they rolled to lay side by side, their breathing harsh. 

As they came down, Harold withdrew slowly from his mind.

He rolled to look at Harold. "There's a void in me now that only you can fill."

"I didn't mean to claim you, I should have—"

"But did you want to?"

"Of course I did, but it should have been your choice and still will be." _The vow is yours to make._

And in that instance, Harold shared everything with him about their people, everything that he'd never been taught at the Academy where it had been deemed of no use to an agent.

_My ionúin, I will always choose you._

_And I you, John, my ionúin, my croí._

**Author's Note:**

> Terms used are somewhat corrupted forms of Irish Gaelic. 
> 
> Léitheoir = Reader  
> Neamhní = 'Nothing'  
> Cainteoir = Speaker  
> Ionúin = Dear, Beloved  
> Croi = Heart


End file.
